Make Me Scene
by Celestial-Dragon
Summary: Crackficish. Harry spends a summer holiday in America and reorganizes his priorities. How will his friends, and not so friends, react to the reinvented Boy Who Lived?
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Make Me Scene  
**Pairing: **HD, a bit of R/Hr  
**Warnings: **emo!Harry, slash, crackfic-ish, AU sixth year.  
**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter and all things such related are copyright J.K. Rowling. I own nothing, am making no profit, and mean no harm by spinning my amusing little tales. I'm but a lowly student low on the pocket change, so please don't feel offended.  
**Summary: **Harry spends a summer holiday in America and re-organizes his priorities. How will his friends - and not-so-friends - react to the re-invented Boy-Who-Lived?

xXxXxXxXx

**Chapter One**

"_Well, We're just a Wet Dream for the Webzine  
Make us it, Make us hip, Make us scene  
Or shrug us off your shoulders  
Don't approve a single word that we wrote."_  
- "London Beckons," Panic! At The Disco.

Professor Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, sat in his office on the last day of the term sucking idly on a lemon drop and pondering his unfathomable genius. Tapping the pads of his fingers together he smiled ever-so-softly, wondering if there was any way for this plan of his to go than off without a hitch.

In recent years during the annual sorting ceremony, the Sorting Hat had been giving, in place of fanciful tales about the four houses, somewhat frightening warnings to the faculty and students of Hogwarts concerning the lack of unity within the castle walls. Dumbledore agreed whole-heartedly with the old heirloom of Godric Gryffindor: the only problem was the way to go about orchestrating it. The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs presented no real problem, both houses featuring boys and girls of honor, learning, and above all, understanding.

No, the problem came between the two houses that had been embroiled in a bitter rivalry since before Dumbledore ever assumed the position of Headmaster: Gryffindor and Slytherin. Being that the two houses were the more powerful of the four, and seemed to have the most sway over the student body, their constant bickering kept the enitre school in a perpetual state of unrest.

But, in the wizened Headmaster's eyes, all that was about to change.

Popping a new lemon drop into his mouth, eyes twinkling just as merrily as they always did, Albus leaned back in his cushy armchair and sighed.

Yes, he thought. Everything will turn out more than fine.

xXxXxXxXx

Several days before the end of term, a growing horde of students fresh from breakfast were crowded around an over-large bulletin board posted in the entryway just outside of the Great Hall. A boy with raven-coloured, tousled hair in shabby hand-me-downs stood with his two best friends, at the frays on tip toes, attempting to see what everyone was crowding around.

"What do you think it is?" Ron asked, a sort of scowl on his face as he attempted to crane his body over the head of a sixth-year Ravenclaw and failed miserably.

"Something to do with Hogsmeade?" Hermione offered from Harry's other side, holding herself with quite a bit more dignity than the two boys, but all the same continuously darting curious glances at the board.

"I don't think so," Harry replied, eyes widening a tad as he realized students were signing their names on various papers tacked to the board. "There wouldn't be so much excitement for something so commonplace."

A familiar drawling voice sounded like an anvil dropping behind them. "Don't tell me no one told you and your little friends, Potter."

Harry frowned and turned slowly, knowing exactly whom the voice belonged to. Now standing before him was none other than his Slytherin rival, Draco Malfoy - easily the most annoying, snide, and shrewd member of the house you could face - flanked on both sides by his closest friends Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson.

"What are you on about, Malfoy?" Harry asked tiredly. He really was sick of Draco acting like he knew twice as much as he did at any given time. He hated even more when the Slytherin was right.

Pansy snorted, tossing her lengthy black hair out of her eyes, and pointed behind him at the board. "Honestly, Potter, could you be more dense? They're rosters for students who want to holiday abroad via the school." She smirked dangerously. "Of course, only those of us without the family standing, connections, and_ money -" _she stressed, looking pointedly at Ron who flushed angrily. " - to take _real_ holidays every year would even _consider_ such nonsense."

Harry growled at the overt threats to him and his friends. Never mind the fact that the death of his parents was nothing Harry had control over, the Slytherins never passed up a chance to rub his lack-of-pureblood, orphan-status in his face. With a smirk and a haughty wave, Draco and his troupe sauntered off into the Great Hall, snickering loudly at the Gryffindor trio.

Hermione laid a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Just let it go, Harry. They're not worth it."

Ron's eyes flashed in agreement. "Right, mate. Don't let it get to you."

Harry nodded, and turned back to the rosters, noting with pleasure that during their tiff with the Slytherins some of the students had cleared out. Moving closer, Harry eyed the individual rosters with interest, his eyes resting first on a rules sheet in the middle. "Shall I read the rules off?" He called back to Ron and Hermione with a quick look, and smiled as they nodded excitedly.

"A new Summer Holiday Abroad program is now open to enrolling sixth- and seventh- years. Many wizarding communities scattered across the globe have agreed to take in those from our own Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry as exchange students, in order to provide our ever-maturing student populous -" Ron interrupted with a snarky comment about how McGonagall must have written the notice, which earned him a kick to the shin from Hermione and a sympathetic grin from Harry. "-with the chance to understand various cultures of the world and become more well-rounded, productive, and understanding members of wizarding society.

"Holdiays will take place during the entire summer holiday - from the last week of June to the last week of August. Please take care not to sign up for a trip if you believe you cannot leave home for the duration." Harry snorted. What he wouldn't give to be able to go on holiday abroad and never have to return to the Dursley's.

"Sponsored Countries: Italy, Germany, France, Bulgaria, Russia, Japan, America, Brazil."

"Wow," Hermione breathed. "How are you ever supposed to pick just one of those countries? It's so fascinating to meet witches and wizards from opposite parts of the world."

Ron scoffed and replied somewhat bitterly, "We all know you have your heart set on Bulgaria, anyway, _Hermy-own-ninny_." Hermione blushed a deep red and Harry chuckled just a bit, though the sound caught in his throat as his bushy-haired friend threw a glare his way.

"Well," she retorted, "What country were _you _thinking of, then?"

"There's not much of a selection, is there?" Ron replied, tapping a finger to his temple in thought. His face broke into a sly grin "But as long as it's free ..."

"_Honestly_, Ron!" Hermione breathed in exasperation as Ron pulled a quill from his pocket, shut his eyes, and stabbed his quill randomly at one of the rosters. He landed on Brazil. Shrugging unconcernedly to Harry, he scribbled his name on the roster and nodded perceptively as it glowed a scarlet color in recognition.

"Well, I'm set." Ron nodded with a lopsided grin, as Hermione rolled her eyes and began to berate him for not taking "such a serious choice" earnestly.

The raven-haired Boy Who Lived had long since tuned his bickering friends out as he stared at the rosters. If someone had brought up the names of the countries available to him yesterday, he would have hardly been moved by one choice or another. But standing in front of the magical rosters now, he could hardly pretend he didn't feel his heartstrings being pulled at even the mention of one of the names. Harry couldn't explain the feeling, but he had hunches of this kind before, and they had always led him to something fruitful: his godfather Sirius, his closest friends, and more adventures and wide-eyed experiences than he could shake a stick at.

Green eyes locked on the roster before him, he reached up with a shaky hand and scrawled his name on the roster labeled, "America." His name glowed the same scarlet as Ron's did, and he wondered abjectly why barely any one else had signed up on the same roster. Harry noticed the name of a seventh-year Ravenclaw and a sixth-year Hufflepuff, but the three of them were the only ones on the list.

Harry got the answer to his musings far faster than he would have expected.

"Mate ..." Ron began, gazing confusedly at Harry's freshly-penned name. "Why ... America? What interest have you got in the Yanks?"

"I dunno," Harry replied. "There's just something about the idea of a holiday in America that I -"

"Wouldn't you rather see a country with a language and culture wholly different from ours?" Hermione interrupted as she reached forward to pen her name on the list to Bulgaria.

"I _knew_ it!"Ron seethed.

Harry just shook his head and looked away, ending the conversation in a way he was prone to do since Sirius's death. Hermione bit her lip but didn't say anything, covering Ron's mouth and silencing him with a glare before he could speak.

"We had best go pack, then." Hermione quipped, smiling at Harry in what she hoped was a heartwarming way, as she lead the way back to Gryffindor tower.

xXxXxXxXx

Later that day, Harry found himself fidgeting nervously in a place he seemed prone to fidget lately: just outside Dumbedore's office. At the end of his Transfiguration lesson, Professor McGonagall had handed him a summons from Dumbledore, for "as soon as he saw fit."

Of course, Harry had rushed straight over.

Waiting here was making him somewhat concerned. Obviously, if it was crucially important, it would have been an immediate summons. Wouldn't it? He was a little queasy as he thought about it: he realized that he hoped it wasn't about Voldemort, not because he feared facing him at this point - which he thought he'd much prefer plunging into it sooner rather than later - but because he wanted his own share of normalcy. His own carefree moments in the sun. Remembering the end of fourth year, seeing everyone hugging their new-found friends, gossiping and making plans for the summer, made him realize how much he wished sometimes that he wasn't Harry Potter.

Or, at least, not _just _Harry Potter.

He sighed, shaking his head and absently straightening his Gryffindor tie. Harry was contemplating weather or not he should knock, or just barge in, when Dumbledore's voice emanated pleasantly from inside his office. "Enter, please."

After pushing the door open slowly, he stole a glance around the room as he stepped over the threshold. The office looked much the same as he remembered it: a wide, circular room featuring strange machines whizzing and huffing in puffs of strange smoke in varying colours, a long wooden desk polished to a glossy sheen, and Dumbedore front-and-center behind it, fingers steepled before his lips and his ever-present twinkling eyes giving Harry an appraising glance.

"Ah, Harry. Please come in and have a seat." He waved his hand at the plush armchairs before him. Noting the Headmaster's pleasant tone, Harry calmed and plopped down in one, an expectantly curious glance on his face.

Dumbledore folded his arms before him on his desk, and fixed Harry with an unreadable expressions. "I wished to have a quick discussion with you about this," he began, turning slightly to procure something from his desk. He straightened and positioned a piece of parchment before Harry. Green eyes widened: it was the sign-up-sheet from the hall marked "America." He gulped and shifted his gaze back to Dumbledore, wary.

To his relief, the Headmaster did not seem angry, though he did not seem entirely pleased either. The twinkle in his eyes were gone, and he now fixed Harry with an expression both curious and concerned.

"I feel I must be frank with you, Harry, in light of recent events." Harry's gaze dropped to the face of the desk as memory threatened to wash over him. "I am not sure it is the wisest decision for you to leave the country, even more so the safety of your Aunt and Uncle's home, for such a long period of time unattended." The headmaster leaned back in his chair, noting the icy shift in Harry's demeanor with grim understanding. "I suppose I would just like to hear from yourself why you have decided to make this choice."

Harry fidgeted in place, staying silent. How could he possibly answer this question when he hadn't really known in the first place? When signing up, it had seemed like the best choice in the world, but with Dumbledore's concerned gaze on him he felt like he was loosing his bearings. He couldn't pretend that the thought of leaving the Dursleys for the summer wasn't something he jumped at, but to say so to Dumbledore now seemed foolish. Harry knew why he had to be there, and much as he despised it, he had come to accept it.

It didn't mean he was going to march back to their house every summer with a smile on his face.

"I just ..." Harry began as he stared at his feet, feeling more jumbled in thought that he had in awhile, and not liking what it reminded him of. "It felt like a good idea at the time, sir."

Dumbedore's eyes twinkled, unbeknownst to Harry, as he observed the boy. "And does it now?"

Harry raised his head. "Yes." He had answered faster than he meant to, and felt himself flush at his rudeness.

The Headmaster chuckled. "Well, at least you are certain."

"But I'm not!" Harry blurted out, surprised at how the words seemed to flood out of his mouth in a torrent. "Not entirely, anyway. I just remember feeling a sense of ... rightness, I suppose, when I was in the entryway signing my name on that paper. I think I've just realized that I would rather spend a summer on my own, out of the Dursley's house, away from the present, away from Ron and Hermione and the Order and Remus and-"

He stopped abruptly, unable to say the word that undoubtedly came next. Sirius's name hung heavy in the air all the same, unsaid and carrying a wavering feeling of Harry's pent-up despair at loosing yet another parental figure in his life. Dumbledore sighed heavily, hearing Harry's point ring truthfully throughout his office. _And I fear he may loose a great deal more than that before this war is over, _he thought. _Would it do so much harm to indulge the boy just once?_

"Interestingly enough, as your Head of House, Minerva has expressed the same sentiment as you on this matter." Harry's eyes widened; McGonagall was siding with him for once? "I have agreed with her, on the condition that you still wished for it. But let me warn you," Dumbledore pulled himself into a more rigid position, donning a more serious expression. "as I am sure you are aware, there are dangers afoot that will, I fear, trouble you regardless of the country you find yourself in. You must take the greatest of caution, and you will never be truly alone this summer. If you should ever need it, call for help: someone will always be able to assist you."

_The Order_, Harry thought with a mixture of relief and contempt. _So the choice is go to the Dursley's or be tailed for the summer?_

He looked up into Dumbledore's peaceful gaze. Harry smiled as he thought, _Being followed really isn't that bad, is it?_

_"_Of course, sir. I very much appreciate this."

The Headmaster smiled. "I believe you have a break between classes right now?" His eyes twinkled playfully. "I'm sure Mr. Weasely and Miss Granger are waiting in the hall for you, and it wouldn't be my place to keep you any longer from regailing them with tales of our discussion."

xXxXxXxXx

The summer came and went quickly, as it is prone to do, and once again the students of Hogwarts found themselves riding the Hogwarts Express: looking forward to another year of learning, mayhem, and teenage angst.

Already, it seemed, some had delved into the teenage angst a bit faster than others.

"Where do you suppose he could _be_?" Hermione paced frantically back and forth across the cramped compartment, tossing her bushy hair this way and that as she turned, face etched with distress as she bit her lip nervously.

Ron, lounged in one of the seats, was watching her pace and slowly becoming dizzy. Somewhat annoyed, he replied, "Hermione, keep your hair on! I'm sure Harry's got a reason for not boarding with everyone else, just like he had a reason for not wanting correspondence this summer. He can take care of himself, you know."

She glared at him. "How can you be so sure, Ron? He could have been mugged, or captured by renegade Death Eaters, or ..."

The red-head threw up a hand to stop her. "Listen, 'Mione. You've been like this all summer - every letter I got from you was about how worried you were for Harry on his own in America. Harry told us all about that discussion with Dumbledore before the end of last year, about Order members stationed there. If there was a chance that he was in serious danger, do you think Dumbledore would have let him go?"

Hermione stopped pacing at that, thinking. "Well ..."

"Definetly." Ron replied, nodding. "Now, stop all that pacing and have one of these Cauldron Cakes."

She frowned ever-so-slightly, fighting the upwards quirking of the edges of her lips, and flopped down in the seat across from Ron. She nodded and took the offered cake.

_Good_, Ron thought, lolling his head back against the seat._ Anything's better than that constant bloody pacing ..._

xXxXxXxXx

Draco sat with his fellow Slytherins on their side of the Great Hall, watching as it slowly filled with students, milling about and chatting with their friends. His eyes narrowed as he instinctively zeroed in on the Gryffindor table and realized the Golden Trio was short one member - also, that neither present seemed all too happy about it.

Blaise seemed to have noticed, too. He pointed at them and said, "Where do you think Potter's off to?"

Pansy tossed her hair and rolled her eyes, pointing at an empty seat at the staff table. "Probably smarming up the new Defence teacher somewhere." Draco smiled as she tapped her right foot against the floor in impatience. "Why is this taking so long, I'm bloody _starving_!"

"Well, it's not like you're going to waste away any time soon," Blaise replied with a smirk, earning a shocked gasp and a napkin to the face from Pansy.

Draco chuckled, shutting his eyes and shaking his head at his friends light-hearted bickering.

A hush fell over the hall and the atmosphere itself seemed to change, from one of excited greeting to one of stunned silence. Draco's eyes snapped open as he turned to Blaise and Pansy to ask what what the matter, but was only met with their dumbfounded faces. Both were gazing at the door to the Great Hall: Blaise's eyes looked ready to pop out of his skull; Pansy's jaw hung open in disbelief, with just the slightest glint of amusement twinkling in her eyes.

Draco scowled and turned to the door. He fell gasping like a fish into shock, a heady flush creeping steadily onto his face, as he realized in an instant what had changed.

It was Potter.

The Boy-Who-Lived stood in the entranceway, smirking softly at the stunned faces around him. The only way his look could be described in the circumstances was radical: not only had the boy sauntered into the Great Hall without his robes on, but in tight trousers. Black cloth clung to him in all the right places and hung loose at his ankles, topped low on his hips with a pyramid-studded belt. He wore a fitted camouflage-brown t-shirt emblazoned with the logo of the muggle band "The Clash", and on his feet were a pair of chocolate Converse, embellished with a myriad of little black words and abstract designs. Even his glasses had changed: gone were the round monstrosities that made him look as if he were constantly attempting an owl impersonation, now replaced with frames of much smaller black-lacquered rectangles that seemed to intensify the deep green of his eyes; eyes that were rimmed smokily in black. His hair was as messy as ever, that same intense jet black.

Most shocking were Harry's new body modifications - in the forms of piercings and a tattoo. Shot through his right eyebrow was a large safety pin that glinted in the candlelight. Both lobes were pierced with black studs, and the cartilage on his right ear was pierced twice, one atop the other, caressing the curve of his inner ear with shining metal. Harry jutted his hands into his pockets, exposing the insides of his arms. Pansy gasped, delight in her face, and couldn't stop herself from pointing. On the inside of his left arm was a multi-tonal punk-star tattoo, done in the red and gold colours of Gryffindor.

Hermione and Ron sat shocked, mouths agape, completely unsure of what to do. His new appearance seemed to make many members of the Hall want to dash to the door and tackle him to the floor for a rampant, punk-rock shag - a good half of the people were shifting uneasily as they fought to remain in their seats, and the Slytherin table was no exception.

Draco felt like his brain had shut off. He was almost positive he was drooling, and wasn't sure if that was good or bad. He watched, eyes glued to the backside of Harry's barely-there trousers, as the boy sauntered into the Hall - like nothing was amiss - and slid gracefully into his seat at the Gryffindor table between his friends. Both Ron and Hermione turned and gaped at him, but got no recognition. Harry simply turned his attention bemusedly down to the table before him, pulled a paring knife from his pocket, and began to carve intricate designs in the polished wood.

The silence was deafening. Every student seemed riveted to Harry's position; the entire staff table sat gaping at the Boy-Who-Lived, with the exception of Dumbledore, who had his hands folded in front of his face, gazing around the Hall with twinkling eyes. Pockets of conversation emerged, and grew louder, until the Hall was alight with its usual buzz - though all conversations drew back to the same point - What had happened to Harry Potter?

Even the Slytherins couldn't help discussing it.

"How did _this _happen?" Pansy asked, grinning wildly with amusement in her eyes. She cast a look back at the Gryffendor table and eyed Harry appraisingly. "And _why _didn't it happen _sooner_?"

Blaise quirked an eyebrow. "Part of me wants to ask why you're so interested, and another part of me would rather not know." Pansy smirked at him and tossed her hair, but said nothing. "What do you think, Drake?" he asked, turning to his left, but stopped abruptly when he noticed the look on his friend's face.

Draco still sat, riveted, eyes locked on Harry. He seemed stuck somewhere between revulsion, intrigue, and asphyxiation. His eyes narrowed and widened. The changes that flitted across his countenance at a mile-a-minute gave him a comical look: nothing like the cool, collected Draco Malfoy his friends were used to.

Blaise and Pansy shared questioning looks with one another. Pansy took the initiative and reached over to Draco, touching him lightly on the arm and shaking him lightly. "Draco, love? What's wrong ...?"

The blonde Slytherin jumped, jerking his arm back as if stung. His gaze flitted back and forth between his friends, startled, eyes wide. Draco clamped his mouth shut, a familiar scowl coming back into place. His eyes darted back across the hall and for a moment he caught Harry's eyes. His breath caught in his throat at being the recipent of that heavy-lidded green gaze: his eyes narrowed at his own behavior and his hand clenched into a fist in his lap.

Draco hated how foolish he was feeling and acting. Under the curious gazes of Blaise and Pansy, Draco jumped up and stalked as gracefully as he could out of the hall, gritting his teeth and hoping that no one would follow him.

His two friends jumped up and followed him immediately.

Harry watched him go under the heavy gaze of his two friends, somewhat confused at their exchange. He was shocked to see that when he looked up Draco was watching him; even more shocked at the emotion in his eyes. Harry had seen lots of variations of anger and hatred in those grey eyes, but nothing like he had just seen. It was indiscribable yet strangely familiar. A memory tugged at the back of his concious mind and he shrugged it away.

He sipped at his pumpkin juice. This year would prove to be more tumultuous than he had originally planned.

_I'd better start that letter, _Harry thought, thinking of the past summer as memory threatened to engulf him. He couldn't handle it here.

_Best not to think of it at all. At least, not yet._

xXxXxXxXx

**Authors Notes: **Yeah. The Clash is a pretty popular British band stateside - what with the complete awesomeness of _London Calling_ and all - so I figured it would be an appropriate choice for Harry.

Also, the Converse will be heretofore mentioned as "chucks", as that's their proper slang term. W00t, and all that nonsense.

I had fun with this, but some of it seems a bit tired. Contrite. Gah! I swear: it may seem like crackfic now, but it will get better. Eventually.

Please review!


	2. Chapter 2

**Title**: Make Me Scene  
**Pairing**: HD, past H/OC, a bit of R/Hr  
**Warnings**: emo!Harry, slash, crackfic-ish, AU sixth year.  
**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and all things such related are copyright J.K. Rowling. I own nothing, am making no profit, and mean no harm by spinning my amusing little tales. I'm but a lowly student low on the pocket change, so please don't feel offended.

Credit to Rachel for naming the emo boy, and to Shay for her awesome beta skills.

**Summary**: Harry spends a summer holiday in America and re-organizes his priorities. How will his friends - and not-so-friends - react to the re-invented Boy-Who-Lived?

**xXxXxXxXx**

**Chapter Two**

"_We've been on the run; Driving in the sun  
Looking out for number one  
On the Stereo; Listen as we go  
Nothing's gonna stop me now_

_California, California: Here We Come!"  
- "_California," Phantom Planet

**xXxXxXxXx**

Harry had left dinner early. He didn't want to deal with Ron and Hermione's questioning glances; he didn't want to deal with the whispers about him filling the halls. He definitely needed a little peace and quiet to sort out his thoughts, so he opted to return to the dorms alone.

Laying back on his mattress, he stared up at the canopy of his four-poster and couldn't help but let a little smirk play on his face as he remembered his classmate's collective reaction to the "new him". The Americans were right: the shock did help him feel better, a little more like himself and a little less like the Boy-Who-Lived. Shaking up his image in the eyes of people who had grown up with blatantly romanticized tales of him was just what the doctor ordered, in a manner of speaking.

Harry Potter: 1, The World: 0.

He shifted uncomfortably. Ever since he had set foot back in the castle, back into the reality of the world he had called his home from that glorious night of his eleventh birthday, he'd felt melancholy. Something he couldn't place. Like he was missing something; not in withdrawal, and not craving something he had left behind, but that there was something new in the air for him that wasn't there before.

Or he hadn't noticed before.

Harry felt disoriented. His mind whirled, and he couldn't remember ever feeling this way. _In that way,_ he thought, _that trip and those people were both a godsend and a curse. All this introspection is making my head spin._ He flung an arm over his eyes and sighed heavily. _Am I really better off?_

Bleach-blonde hair. A jagged, almost carefree, grin. Warm hands. Whispered words in the depths of the night that mingled with the sounds of the sea in the distance.

Harry rolled onto his side, sliding the arm under his head, and let out another heaving sigh. Almost of it's own volition, his hand slid from the bed before him and into his pocket, tightening on the glossy paper in his pocket he knew he held like a lifeline. Harry wanted to pull it out and look at it, and didn't want to as well. He wanted to move on, and at the same time wanted to revel in the sensations and the daydreams and the sunsets of the past summer.

He wanted the castle to feel like home again.

A tanned hand emerged from the pocket clutching the photograph. He drew it out, smoothing it almost lovingly, and held it before his face with both hands. Harry smiled wistfully as he looked at it. He hadn't had many wizarding photographs in his life, though the ones he did have were all very special to him. This one, now, was no different.

Brilliant view of the beach: the surf lapping the sand lazily in the background. The sun slipping gently behind the line of the horizon, casting its golden beauty across the ocean and making it glitter like so many jewels. A troupe of teenagers arranged in the sand - some sitting, some standing, some lounging about like the oafs that they were, and Harry laughed.

His eyes zeroed in on himself in an instant, just right of the middle, sitting in the sand in swim trunks with his new glasses, skin glossy from the frothy ocean, grinning happily. A tanned arm around his shoulders. A blonde-clad head moved in to lean against his own, with a matching grin.

Harry sighed, laying back down, letting the photograph fall next to him. It seemed like an age ago, and yet it seemed like he could reach out and touch it if he wanted to. He hated feeling so jumbled - Harry Potter didn't have an identity crisis because Harry Potter's life was simple. Linear. With purpose.

The Boy-Who-Lived ached for the sounds of the surf. The heat of the sun. Lazy days and late-night parties.

Would that bring him home? Or did he need to find someone to take him to that place inside him? Sometimes, Harry doubted he ever would. He lost himself in scarlet memory as the colours of his bed's canopy collided before his eyes.

**xXxXxXxXx**

**The Previous Summer, August 4th.**

The flight to California was harsh. It turned out the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff girls were fairly good friends, and were content to sit together, on the opposite side of the plane, and gossip as girls do; leaving Harry by the window with a dazed gaze out at the seemingly endless ocean beneath him.

Harry was pretty sure this was almost the most bored he had ever been in his life. Not being a wizarding child like his classmates, he wasn't fascinated with the inner workings of the airplane - along with everything around them. It was all as commonplace to him as their world was to them. The ocean was interesting to him for a while, but something that looks uniform over it's whole surface loses it's lustre eventually. Professor Binn's class won out in the boredom department only because he was still vaguely excited to get to America.

Puesta del Sol. A beachside city in southern California that apparently housed an American school of wizardry. Harry had heard there was a fairly substantial muggle population in the area as well, since much of the town's money came from offshore fishing and oil rigs. Harry had seen pictures, and it looked beautiful. Very small and picturesque: like a town you'd see on a postcard.

The in-flight movie was, interestingly, _Interview with the Vampire_. Harry thought it an odd choice, but then again, it was a fairly cheap airline. He paid the flight attendant for a pair of headphones, and caught a quick flash behind her of his schoolmates attempting to pay for headphones with a mixture of muggle change and Sickles.

He laughed, shaking his head and settling down for the long flight ahead of him. Passing in and out of consciousness as the day wore on, he watched the movie as best he could. It was actually quite interesting, and he thought the actors were fairly convincing. His eyes were falling closed. They felt really heavy ...

"Sir? Sir!"

Shaken roughly, Harry mumbled confusedly and uncurled his legs from his sleeping position, opening his eyes slowly to gaze up at the flight attendant standing over him.

She smiled softly at him. "The plane has landed, sir. You'd best be on your way."

Harry gazed around, noticing that the airplane was empty but for the attendants and a few more stragglers. Embarrassed, with a flush creeping over his face, he mumbled his thanks as he grabbed his things and shuffled out of the plane. She smiled after him with a friendly wave.

The first thing Harry saw was the sprawling, beautiful blue of the sky, it's expanse marred only by the occasional cloud. Pulled, as if by an unseen force, he ambled up to a terminal window, and pressed his forehead against the glass.

Beautiful wasn't a strong enough word.

He couldn't see the beach from the terminal, but he could just make out the edge of the ocean. Newly paved roads spread out in all directions, black asphalt gleaming in the heat of the overhead sun. There was grass everywhere, and palm trees swaying lightly in the breeze. He could almost taste the flowers. In the air there was a pungent mixture of yarrow, sage and salt from the sea. The air was warm, perfumed lightly, and filled with the sounds of the hustle and bustle of the people. The city was decidedly larger than he had expected, but Harry felt like he was falling in love with it anyway.

"Do you like the view?"

Harry turned abruptly, startled, to see a darkly-tanned, fresh faced girl behind him. She was wearing knee length blue and white hibiscus-print surf shorts and a blue bikini swim top. Her sun-kissed brown hair was pulled back from her face and held behind her in a bun, but it seemed to be unraveling. Her face held the slightest tinge of red, her hair matted oddly, as if she had spent the entire morning in the ocean. All she had with her was a small beach bag in one hand and a pair of sandals in the other. Harry realized she was barefoot at about the same time he realized he was staring.

Of course, he had the decency to blush. She laughed and waved a hand in the air, as if to say, 'Forget about it.' She peered at him curiously. "You're Harry, right?"

Quirking an eyebrow, Harry nodded. The girl laughed again.

Sticking out her hand in a business-like manner, she said, "Marlene. Nice to meet you." Harry took her hand with a nod and a smile. "I'll be taking you over to where everyone else is." She nodded, as if to punctuate her words. Her gaze fell to Harry's trainers, and she grinned up at him. Holding out the flip-flops she held in her hand, she smirked. "You'll be wanting to change into these. Trust me; you'll thank me later."

As they made their way through the terminal, Marlene explained that while a bigger bunch of people wanted to be there to pick them up, they had been having amazing swells all morning and it was almost impossible to tear most of them away from the beach. Therefore, that's where they were headed.

"Is it just 'the beach', or does it have a name?" Harry asked as they exited out the large front doors. Marlene rolled her eyes at him and smirked.

"Yeah it does, smartass." Harry laughed. "Clarita's Pass. It's just off a pretty big highway, kind of secular. Big tourist attraction, though not this early in the morning."

She pointed in the distance to a beat-up white Cadillac with a surf rack mounted somewhat precariously on top, holding a worse-for-wear yellow shortboard. "That'd be mine. As you can see," she said, gesturing to herself and her car, "I was the one selected to tear myself away from the beach."

Harry smiled, although his stomach was flip-flopping. Surfing? He'd never even seen the ocean up close before! He wasn't sure if he was exhilarated at the thought, completely terrified, or somewhere stock-still in the middle.

If Marlene noticed his reticence she didn't comment on it, but simply led the way to her car, unlocked his door for him, and slid across the hood to enter on her side.

When Harry expressed concern about the other students, Marlene waved it off, and explained each student was being shadowed by a different group from her school. Harry had just happened to have been landed with them.

He didn't think it seemed all that bad a group to be stuck with.

The ride went fairly fast, but Harry tried his hardest to pay attention to every detail of the city: stuccoed houses, palm trees, all manner of flora and fauna, glistening roads, and a veritable torrent of cars headed for the same destination as theirs. Marlene drove pleasantly, humming a tune underneath her breath and drumming her fingers against the steering wheel.

"You'll have to forgive me the lack of a radio. About a week ago I had my car parked in the lot of a warehouse to pick up some odds and ends and my radio got stolen."

That tore Harry's attention away from the city immediately. "Stolen?"

She turned to look at him when she noticed the distress in his voice. "No worries. Every once in a while in a city like this something gets stolen. It's no real big deal, and our sweet little city isn't dangerous to be in." She flashed him a reassuring smile. "I promise. I totally wouldn't ever put you in danger."

Harry calmed a bit and thought that over. It was naïve to think that nothing had been stolen in his part of Britain, but he was sure it wouldn't have been talked about this freely. Marlene's brutal honesty helped him feel a bit more loose, and with just a bit of effort he turned his attention back to the city.

Sooner than Harry expected they were turning into a sandy parking lot right off of the boardwalk. Jumping out immediately for a look, causing Marlene to giggle, Harry attempted to take everything in at once. The boardwalk, little more than planks of wood set into the beach with a railing to the left side, was lined on the right with shops of all kinds: surf and skate shops, restaurants, cafés, bookstores and tourist traps. In the southern distance were all manner of rides that reminded him of pictures of Coney Island he had seen in books, topped off with a sugary-coloured ferris wheel.

Coming up to stand behind him, Marlene poked him in the shoulder, and gave him a shrug as he turned to look at her. "It's not much, but it's home."

With shining eyes, Harry replied, "I think it's wonderful."

She smiled and started off down the boardwalk.

Marlene eventually convinced Harry to kick off his flip-flops in order to feel the sand between his toes, as they walked down the boardwalk to the group's spot on the beach. Harry felt like a kid in a candy store: he'd never been on a real beach before, and everything was a pleasant assault to his senses.

"I know this is probably a weird place for you to meet everyone," Marlene apologized. "But we're kind of beach bums during the summer."

Harry smiled. "It's not a problem." He paused, considering, then plunged ahead. "I've never been to a beach before."

"I figured. You're looking at everything like you could drink it with your eyes." Harry blushed and she laughed again. With a grin, she pointed out at the incoming tide where a group of people were lounging. "That's them." Her eyes glinted mischievously. "Race you!"

Her surprise start didn't save her: Harry wasn't on his house's Quidditch team for nothing. He passed her easily right at the clinch, and she wagged her finger at him in mock disapproval as she panted for breath at the edge of the group. "Uncool. I hate sports players!"

Harry let out a burst of laughter, but slowed to a stop as a male voice sounded behind him. "Quidditch, right?" The boy moved past him to stand next to Marlene, and gave him an approving once-over. Harry flushed.

The boy had sandy, raggedly-cut blonde hair that fell at a jagged line over his right eye. He was golden tan, not as dark as Marlene but obviously a fan of the beach. His blue eyes twinkled mischievously in the sun as they raked over Harry. Clad only in scarlet swimming trunks, it was easy to tell that he was well-toned and probably played one of the more physically demanding positions.

He stuck out a hand. "I'm Chance." Harry reached forward to shake his hand eagerly and replied with his own name. "I'm a beater on our school's team. I'm sure I could spot a Quidditch player a mile away."

Harry smiled. "In this case, you'd be right."

"What position do you play?" Chance asked, cocking his head ever-so-slightly.

"Seeker."

"You'd have to be light and speedy, and fairly flexible, to be good at that position." Chance's eyes raked over him again. "I can believe _that_."

Marlene laughed as Harry looked away sheepishly. "Stop teasing, Chance. You gotta at least let him get used to your insanity before you start in on him." Chance shrugged comically, smiling apologetically at Harry, and the group laughed.

Introductions went quickly after that, a few people here and there Harry attempted to commit to memory, before they decided to go get lunch. Harry could feel Chance watching him closely as they walked down the boardwalk, and he tried his hardest not to look back at him.

**xXxXxXxXx**

Green eyes raked over the addresses written on the back of the photograph and he snorted in amusement at the hastily-scrawled message at the bottom. He made a mental note to thwap Chance if he attempted to refer to their beginnings as "innocent" ever again. He couldn't have been more blatant if he had beaten Harry over the head with his interest.

Of course, Harry hadn't picked up on it until much later, thinking it good-natured teasing like the rest of the group did. Chance did it to everyone, he soon came to understand. But there was always something a little different about when he teased Harry. A different look in his eyes.

It wasn't like he had ever had a lot of relationship experience, Harry thought bitterly. The one and only experience he'd had was Cho, and he'd soon realized he was more enamored with the idea of her and what she stood for than anything else. He'd been weary of romance of any kind since then.

In his own younger thoughts, he'd had passing crushes on all sorts of people, male and female, because they of the way they looked or because they seemed nice. He hadn't known how odd that was until he got to Hogwarts and was in a stable school environment. In light of everything else happening to him and what was expected of him, he hadn't had enough time to stew over his feelings or let his differences bother him. It all got kind of buried in light of ... other needs.

He wasn't sure if he had ever thought of guys like he had thought of Cho in the beginning. That was the hardest part over the summer - getting past all that "emotional blockage," as Marlene had put it.

Harry had never had anyone to talk to about all these things: it wasn't like he could chat with the Dursleys, and everyone else in his life wasn't close enough to him to put him at ease enough to talk about something like ... that. Even if Sirius were still alive, there was no way he would have brought it up to him. _Oh,_ Harry thought, _that would have gone off splendidly. 'Hey, Sirius? I may be having sexual feelings for other guys. Would you like to chat about it with me over tea?'_ He rolled his eyes.

What was the line from that vampire movie? 'But all my passion went with her golden hair.' A rephrasal to 'his,' perhaps. At that, he snorted cynically and flopped back onto his bed.

A loud, strong knock from the door echoed through the room, jilting him from his musing. He sat up, wary but knowing it was inevitable, and called out, "Come in!"

**xXxXxXxXx**

**Author's Notes: **Wow, that was really fun! Many apologies for the delay, of course, but what with graduation and registration for college my time has been forcibly spent elsewhere. Hopefully this story will pick up the pace a little and get itself written faster.

For anyone interested, "Puesta del Sol" is a street in Santa Barbara. Spanish translation would be "sunset".

I am very distraught that "thwap" is not an actual word. We should petition Oxford.

By the by, if you haven't heard the songs I'm referencing in the chapter quotes, I highly suggest you hear them out. I'd never quote anything that sucked!

Let the Reviewing Parade commence!


	3. Chapter 3

**Title**: Make Me Scene  
**Pairing**: HD, past H/OC, a bit of R/Hr  
**Warnings**: emo!Harry, slash, crackfic-ish, AU sixth year.  
**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and all things such related are copyright J.K. Rowling. I own nothing, am making no profit, and mean no harm by spinning my amusing little tales. I'm but a lowly student low on the pocket change, so please don't feel offended.

This installment is dedicated to my friend Jeffy and his contempt for scene kids across the globe. Much love, you crazy English major, you!

**xXxXxXxXx**

**Chapter Three**

"_Desperation, Devastation  
All I truly know  
Is Isolation, Self Damnation  
All life that I'd own was shed and worthless now."  
- "_Rabbits are Roadkill on Route 37," AFI

**xXxXxXxXx**

Not to Harry's surprise, Hermione popped her brown, bushy head into the room. She struck him with a questioning, almost queasy, glance. "Could I talk to you, Harry?"

Still lying lethargically on his bed, he nodded and waved her in absently.

Closing the door behind her, she entered and cautiously made her way over to his bed. After a moment of hesitation, she seated herself on the edge and looked at him expectantly. Sighing almost inaudibly, he sat up cross-legged before her and looked her in the eyes.

"Harry ..." she started, a finger against her lips as she internally fought for the right words. "What happened to you?"

Harry looked away and focused on a spot on the wall to the right of her, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. He figured it was pretty obvious what had happened to him, and he was a little disappointed that this was the way she was starting the conversation. Some small part of him had been hoping for a, "Good for you, I completely understand what you're going for!" And yet he knew it was sort of foolish for him to expect something so positive.

"I just ..." She gestured at him helplessly. "I just don't get it! I mean, we - Ron and I - we know you and this just isn't you!"

That got Harry's attention. He snapped his gaze back to her immediately, and she was startled at the beginnings of smouldering anger in it's depths. "You know me? You know me?" He threw up his hands in disbelief and lifted himself with startling force from the bed, standing to pace back and forth between his bed and Ron's. He wheeled around to face her. "How could you know me so well when I didn't even know myself?"

Hermione frowned. "Oh, and you know yourself so well now?"

Harry crossed his arms before him. "Better than I did before."

"How can you even say that?" Hermione's gaze was slowly becoming as heated as Harry's as she leapt up from the bed and moved to stand before him. She gestured at him wildly. "_Look_ at yourself, for _Merlin's_ sake! This isn't who you are, this is somebody else! It's as if you looked into some random magazine, pointed your finger at a page and said, 'Oh, yes. I'm going to be this person from now on.'"

"How _dare_ you!" Harry gasped with a hand against his chest, feeling an almost physical pain from the veritable blow. She was basically calling him a poseur, and it hurt. No matter what he said in the heat of an argument, he would have thought as one of his best friends she would know him just a little bit better than that, and he told her so.

"Obviously not, if one summer abroad can change you from the person we know and love into this ..._ impersonator_ I'm staring at right now!"

Harry stared at her icily. "What is it that you see, then?"

"I see someone trying to shock the world for the wrong reasons. I see someone parading as something they're not in order to separate himself from everyone, or even worse, to garner sympathy and attention!" Harry gasped and his eyes widened in pain, but Hermione was far too worked up to stop. "I see someone slowly becoming self-centered and narcissistic right before my eyes! You never cared about your clothes or your hair before; what's changed you now?"

Harry refused to answer her, more out of reluctance to admit why than in anger, as memory threatened to intrude on him.

She plunged ahead. "I see someone ready to turn his back on the wizarding world when they need him, and that scares me!" She stopped with a sharp intake of breath, fists clenched at her sides and her eyes awash with tears.

He stared at her in shock and confusion, mouth slightly ajar. "Is that what you think? That I'd _abandon_ you and Ron?"

She looked away.

Suddenly, the implications of what she said hit home and all the anger he held over being the Boy-Who-Lived came crashing down. "So what's expected of me is this: I'm supposed to sit here, do my duty and destroy Voldemort," - A fearful quiver from Hermione - "while everyone cheers and pats me on the head and tells me what a good boy I was for saving them all when none of them would even lift a finger to help themselves. And then what? I just fade into nothingness?"

In his anger he began to pace again as his voice rose. "Well, now that everyone's safe, of course, there's no need for the Boy-Who-Lived anymore. No one really cares what happens to him now, no one really cares what plans he had for the future because all that mattered was the destruction of evil."

He stopped at the night table next to his bed and slammed his fist into it with shuddering force, causing Hermione to jump and take a step back in fear. "What about what I want? Hermione, maybe I want to laze in the sun and relax like everyone else my age. Maybe I want to sit with my feet in the surf and gaze up at the stars. Maybe I want to play the guitar and listen to muggle rock music, grow out my hair and dress like _this_." He gestured to himself hopelessly, and turned to the window to hide his impending tears.

"Maybe I need this to be happy," he breathed, almost inaudibly, lying his head against the cool glass just as it began to rain.

Hermione shook her head as her own tears began to flow. "You're being selfish!"

"_I'm_ being selfish!"

Just at that moment, Ron peeked his head into the dorms. One look at the stances, facial expressions, and the tears in his friend's eyes he was pretty sure he didn't want to get involved. Part of him wanted to comfort Hermione; part of him wanted to stand by his best friend. He was about to slink back out of the room when Harry turned around to yell something at Hermione, saw him, and stopped in tear-soaked shock. Hermione wheeled around, and in her face Ron saw a mixture of anger, sadness, and relief.

Reluctantly, he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

"I ..." He wasn't sure where to begin. They were both looking at him expectantly as if wishing for his input, and he felt out-of-sorts at the fact that he didn't really know what the fight had escalated into at this point. He wished more than ever he had just minded his own business and stayed in the common room until this was over. "We heard you both shouting downstairs. What ... what's going on?"

Harry let his head fall into his hands. He hadn't wanted his anger to escalate to this point. At least, not on the first night he was back in the castle. He was disgusted with the part of himself that was ashamed; but he felt ashamed, nonetheless. He opened his mouth to tell Ron everything was okay and to acquiesce to Hermione's demands in shame, but Hermione had other ideas.

"Come on, Ronald! You were just as confused and concerned as I was when Harry walked into the Great Hall looking like ..." She waved at him, as if she was unable to even work her observation into words.

Ron was confused. He was sure by the way Harry was reacting that this was some sort of muggle thing he didn't understand, and he wasn't sure if he was happy at being dragged into it.

"Like _what_, Hermione?" Harry demanded coldly.

Hermione had turned back to Harry at Ron's blank stare. "Look at you! You're a complete and utter _scene kid_ and it's _sickening_!"

Now Ron was sure he didn't understand. He felt like raising his hand for clarification. So he did. His two warring friends ignored him.

Harry saw red. "A scene kid?"

"Yes, a_ scene kid_." She repeated mockingly. "A complete and utter lemming! A .. A ..." She gestured in the air helplessly for the right word. Both boys feared she had caught it when a triumphant glint appeared in her eyes. "A trend-whore!"

"Get out." Harry ground out through a clenched jaw, face turning red.

"You-"

"Get. OUT." He thundered, punctuating his command with a pointed finger toward the door.

Body shaking in rage, she turned on her heel sharply with one last glare, and stalked from the room. Everyone could clearly hear her pound up the stairs to the girls dormitories, and slam the door of her room when she got there.

Ron turned tail soundlessly, gaping like a fish, and went back downstairs. Dean was from a muggle family, maybe he would get this ...

As the door slid shut with an audible 'click,' Harry slumped back onto his bed. Of course, he wanted to indulge in a little bit of artistic and emotional freedom; but he didn't want to lose his friends over it, either. He knew Ron wasn't a problem, at least not now, but Hermione ... What she had said really hurt him. Even worse, it made him doubt himself. Was this really all just a front? Was he still the scared little boy he used to be, raging against the forces of evil, fearless because he was expected to be?

He shook his head. No, he wasn't. With a sigh, he admitted that at least he knew that much.

The difference was that now he was willing to do something about it.

Harry rifled through his trunk at the foot of his bed, and pulled out his quill and a sheet of parchment. Now, more than ever, he needed to get a letter back to America. Back to ...

He shook his head to clear his thoughts. Settling down, he dipped the quill in his inkwell swiftly, and pressed it almost hesitantly to the paper.

**xXxXxXxXx**

Draco paced the Slytherin sixth-year's dorm room without pause, ignoring the shouts and thinly-veiled insults being hurled at him through the locked door. ("Hey, some of us have to sleep tonight!" "You don't own the dorms, you know!" "kick Ow! Drake, I think I stubbed my toe!")

What in the _hell_ was wrong with him? Thinly-veiled interest in other men accompanied by that classic Slytherin swagger and a snide remark was one thing; openly ogling St. Harry of Potter and wanting to jump him when he gazed at you with those big, beautiful emerald eyes was quite another.

Draco stopped. Did he just think to himself that Harry Potter had "big, beautiful emerald eyes"? He slumped his head into his hands and mumbled, "I must be losing my mind."

Taking a deep breath, Draco dropped his hands and forced himself to keep his mind on the subject at hand. Most importantly: had he gone crazy enough that he needed to send a letter to his father care of St. Mungo's, or was this something he could handle?

Even though it was already dark, he could see the barest outline of the Quidditch pitch outside his bewitched window. He settled down onto the ledge he'd long ago covered with Turkish cushions to produce a make-shift window seat. As he gazed out the window he traced the constellations with his eyes, naming them off as he did so. Perseus, Cassiopeia, Cepheus. His mother's interest in astronomy was nurtured by the Blacks and had grown to a love in her adulthood, as made obvious by his own name. During his childhood, she had taught him as much about the subject as he could possibly absorb. Reverting to naming the patterns of the stars was comforting to him. It reminded him of years past that were much easier and more free than the present.

As he reached The Dragon, the constellation of his namesake, it began to rain. Lightly at first, then falling in torrents, soaking the ground with it's life giving essence.

Draco sighed. "Brilliant. Now even the sky won't comfort me."

He leaned his forehead against the window and sighed. He got the strangest premonition, almost like a magical shudder, and the first thought that came to him was that someone else was doing this exact same thing somewhere in the castle at this very moment. He shrugged, and let the feeling slip away from him, delighting in the cold feeling of the glass against his face.

"It's just because he's different, that's all." As soon as the words left his mouth, Draco knew he was deluding himself. Checking to make sure his classmates hadn't busted down the door yet, he vowed to puzzle this thing out.

And to do that, he had to stop lying to himself.

"So I think he's ... pleasant ... to look at now," He struggled, though hearing it out loud somehow made it easier to take, and he felt as if a weight were beginning to lift off of his shoulders. He shook his head. "No lying. Alright." A deep breath. "It's more than that, then ... it's ..." Draco stood and began to pace - an activity he often engaged in when attempting to puzzle something out.

"What is it that he's wearing, anyway? It's no style I've ever seen in wizarding shops, so it must be a muggle thing." Draco scrunched up his nose in disgust: he hated acknowledging that something good had come from muggle meddling, but occasionally he had to admit that some of their inventions and trends were well-conceived.

And even he couldn't deny that Potter had looked good.

Draco recalled that one of his dorm mates - a mousy, shy boy who's name he hadn't ever bothered to learn - was a half-blood: his mother would send him muggle magazines and such in the post every few weeks. Such a thing was kept very hush-hush, and apparently the boy had proven himself to the others because no one much raised a fuss at the news. But these things do prove to be useful from time to time. Perhaps there was something mixed in his things ...?

After rifling through the boy's things for several minutes, he found a stack of magazines, bound, at the bottom of his trunk. With a smirk, he tore the latest magazine off the top and began to peruse it. Most of it was junk: reviews of something called CDs (which Draco filed into his brain for later sleuthing), interviews with movie stars and equally boring drivel.

He was halfway through the third magazine, completely bored out of his mind and about to toss the whole thing and call it quits when he recognized those square-framed glasses of Potter's on a model. In fact, the model's entire clothing style seemed to be reminiscent of what Potter had been wearing. Praying to every deity he could think of in hopes that he had struck gold, he began to read the article.

**xXxXxXxXx**

For what seemed like the millionth time since he re-entered the castle, Harry was lying on his back in his dorm room, staring up at the canopy over his bed. Why did things have to turn out this way? He felt so confused. Part of him was beyond hurt at Hermione's accusations; the other, dancing triumphantly at the back of his mind, sing-songingly taunting: "I told you so! I told you so!"

He clamped a pillow over his face in dismay. "Just ... Shut up," Harry whispered. He realized he was talking to himself, but at this point, he reckoned it wasn't a big deal.

The inkwell, and still-blank piece of parchment, lay still at the foot of his bed, untouched in his tumultuous frustration. For the first time in his life, he knew something needed to be said, and he knew what needed to be said, but he wasn't quite sure how to actually ... say it. Something like this required delicate words: if he played it off too easily, his friends wouldn't think anything of it. _Just the tortured whining of an out-of-place Emo Boy_, Harry thought to himself. But if he overdid it, overemphasized his turmoil, one of the richer Yanks would hop a plane just as fast as they could to come check on him.

Harry didn't want that. He needed to be able to handle these ... crises of faith, as it were, on his own. He just ... needed a little advice this time.

And Draco ... God, why were his thoughts _continuously_ drifting back to Draco? It had to do with that strange glance Draco gave him in the Hall; but it was more than that. At the back of his mind he felt that familiar tug of intuition, that he should know why, and that the answers were buried deep in the memories trapped in his subconscious.

That was a place he wasn't willing to search. Not yet.

So he settled for a sigh, yet again, and forced himself up from his lethargic rest - easing almost seamlessly back to the cross-legged position he had taken before Hermione just hours before. Forcing himself to clear his mind, he thought, _I just have to write it all out. If I mess up, I can keep going and just recopy the whole thing when I've finished. I've plenty of parchment._

He started:

To: Marlene, Chance, Danni and the rest of the Crew

I'm sure you weren't expecting me to contact you all so soon, and I don't want you to worry, but I have a slight problem. A very close friend, to put it mildly, didn't take news of the "new me" too well.

I can already see you smirking in triumph, Marlene. Just give me a second to explain. Alright?

Some of the things she said to me really hurt me. Mentally, I was prepared for this. I knew, going into the fight as she began to speak, that hurt was exactly where we were hurtling for.

That doesn't make it any easier to bear. But, at the same time, it's nothing I can't handle on my own - so don't get any wild ideas. I was just wondering what advice you could give me.

I don't want to lose my friends. They've been with me through a lot, and their support means more to me than anything else.

He paused for a long moment at that, thinking. Harry came to the startling realization that their support was all he had left. Without them, it was him against the masses and, ultimately, Voldemort. That was too dark a thought for him to bear on his own. He touched quill to paper again.

On the other hand, I haven't felt so alive my entire life. (Physical looks are just the corporeal manifestation of my inner turmoil and hidden persona; right, Danni?)

Harry laughed, in spite of himself. The blonde-haired coffeehouse bum was headed on the fast track for muggle psychiatry.

Giving up the physical "illusion", if you will, isn't going to change anything. If they're upset with the physical changes, then they'll be upset with the personality that goes along with it. Might as well bring it all out in the open at once, eh?

Remembering the conversation they had on that exact topic not a week before, he realized he was almost quoting Chance verbatim. Shaking his head, he decided to just let those thoughts go and continue with the task at hand. Live in the present moment. A Buddhist mantra. If it worked for Danni, it could work for him. Right?

He hoped so.

Chance: I already know what you are going to say, and I don't want to hear it. I don't want to turn my back on the people I've cared about since I was eleven over something as trivial as this. Yes, trivial. This isn't a radical philosophic change. This is me as I've always been. I just need to make them see it.

I need some sound advice. Reply as soon as you can.

In light of the whining he felt like he had been doing the entire letter, he decided to ask some lighthearted questions about their lives to lighten the mood. With a soft sigh, he hoped it would work. He was genuinely concerned about how their lives were going, but ... Harry really wanted to ask on more pleasant circumstances than this.

Again, as always, many apologies for wasting your time. I'm sure your surfing contests are far more important than my own whining. By the way, how is it going? Has Marlene acquisitioned her Asiatic love slave yet?

He smirked.

Write back soon. Contrary to popular belief, I do miss you all.

Later,

Harry.

Harry looked back at his handiwork. Over two hours worth of struggling had earned him a very messy piece of parchment: cross outs, ink blots, splatters and spills and smudged fingerprints erratically dotted the entirety of his work. But he was satisfied: What he had actually written seemed like it would do the job nicely - it wasn't too over-the-top and it wasn't too low key. He genuinely smiled in spite of himself, in spite of the evening he had just had.

_Every cloud has a silver lining_, Harry mused.

He thought of Draco.

He shook his head, trying in vain to dislodge his thoughts as he hurriedly recopied his note. _Buddhist mantra, Buddhist mantra_. Harry thought, _This really doesn't seem to be working very well_. He cursed his rebellious brain.

Folding and sealing the letter, he headed off for the Owlery. He wanted to get this out before curfew - something had to go right today. Harry only hoped he wouldn't be faced with any more over-zealous attempts by his housemates to find out "what was going on with him".

The Boy Who Lived had definitely had enough of that for one night.

**xXxXxXxXx**

Draco felt like his brain had gone cross-eyed, if that were even possible.

He had been sitting in the same spot on the floor in the dormitories, pondering the article he just read for over an hour now. He scowled; he wasn't fond of having to puzzle over Harry Potter. Especially when his puzzling lead him to ... _this_.

In all honesty, he couldn't tell whether the article was meant to be a joke or not.

The end of the article featured a tableau: full length pictures of a teenaged girl and boy dressed in emo fashion, dissected right down to the shoes with a strange mixture of the reverence of an estranged aesthete and satirical, almost biting, commentary. Apparently, it all came down to your own preconceived notions, anyway: did you think it was a joke? Or a lifestyle?

Draco let his head drop into his hands. "I need a cigarette." Not one of his better habits, he admitted, but when you're the son of a Death Eater, the forms of rebellion not punishable under pain of death are few and far between. He cast a glance at the enchanted window. "And an actual view of the sky, while I'm at it."

He decided to trudge off to his favorite stargazing spot: the Astronomy tower. Usually, a few hours time spent with the stars would help him put his affairs in order.

He hoped this time it would be the same.

Racing through the halls, his eyes on the floor as he mused, he shot a glance at his watch and knew he was cutting it close. Draco hoped he could at least _arrive_ at his place in the tower before curfew - he didn't much feel up to sneaking about the castle on account of a Gryffindor.

Potter. Even when The Boy Who Lived wasn't around he seemed to be ruining Draco's life. If he could have glared at himself, he would have. He settled for turning his heated gaze on the floor instead. What in Merlin's name was wrong with him? Draco cursed his raging teenage hormones. There was no feasible way that his brain would turn traitor on him like this - the problem must lie elsewhere, somewhere uncontrollable.

His scowl deepened. He picked up the pace.

He reached the end of the corridor at break-neck speed and hurtled around the corner - just barely stopping himself from slamming bodily into the very person he wanted least to see.

Draco cursed his luck to the seventh circle of hell. "Bloody. _Fucking_. Brilliant," he muttered, rolling his eyes with a pained expression. "Why does this always happen to me?"

Harry peered at Draco curiously. The boy had stopped dead in front of him where they had almost collided seconds before and seemed to be muttering to himself.

Against his better judgement, he thought maybe he should snap the boy out of ... whatever it was he was stuck in.

"Uh ... D-Malfoy?" He caught himself just in time before saying the boy's name. "Are you alright? You're looking kind of ... green." For emphasis, he waved a hand in front of the Slytherin's face, attempting to break his concentration.

Draco snapped back at once, blinking incredulously. For a moment his face held a mixture of that previously pained look and newfound confusion, but as his eyes focused on Harry, they narrowed. "Who do you think you _are_, bustling about the halls so quickly?" He pointed at the folded parchment in Harry's hand. "You could have put somebody's eye out! Mine, to be exact, which wouldn't have turned out very well for you."

He knew he was rambling; he just hoped a nervous blush wasn't accompanying it. Damn all the stars in the _sky_, but Potter was looking much better than a passing "presentable", and it was throwing him for a loop.

Harry cocked an eyebrow. "_You_ almost ran into _me_. If anyone should have complaints about near-loss of life and limb, _I_ do."

Draco had the good grace to look bemused. Had Potter ever shown the barest hint of cleverness in the past? He felt struck dumb, and he didn't like it one bit. He lashed out in the most Slytherin fashion he could with what he had to work with.

He pointed at the letter with a trademark smirk. "What's that? Have you got a _girlfriend_ back in the 'states hanging on your every word?"

Harry snorted. "Of course not." He moved to pass Draco and continue on his way down the hall.

Draco's mind raced. A heady mixture of Malfoy and Slytherin pride simply would _not_ let Harry Potter have the last word. "I should have known. A boyfriend, then?"

Harry stopped dead in his tracks, mouth slack in shock, not two inches before the other boy, and was nowhere near fast enough to conceal the tomato-red blush he could feel creeping over his face.

Draco's eyes twinkled mischievously as a slow, satisfied smirk spread across his face. Harry, a picture of dismay, dashed off past the Slytherin and around the corner, the sound of his light, running steps echoing back to where Draco still stood.

With a sardonic chuckle, the Slytherin resumed his original course to the Astronomy tower, a tumultuous barrage of questions simmering unheeded under a triumphant glaze.

**xXxXxXxXx**

Draco took another long drag off the thin cigarette between his fingers, letting the smoke coil like a snake in the depths of his lungs, before slowly letting it out, marveling at the sweet taste and the emerald green colour of the smoke escaping his lips.

Magical cigarettes, though still containing the same tars and addictive herbs as their muggle counterparts, had been greatly improved upon in the taste and sight departments very recently by some ingenious young wizards. There were a plethora of flavours and colours to choose from, if one knew which less-than-reputable shops to ask in.

If there was anything Draco had learned from his father, it was to take pride in the family contacts.

You could still taste it in the air: that sinfully indulgent flavour of fresh mint. The disgusting menthol of muggle cigarettes had nothing on the real thing. Amusedly, Draco figured the only thing these "improvements" had really done was make it easier to get addicted.

Another, deeper, drag. He supposed you could be addicted to worse.

At the back of his mind, a voice seemed to whisper, "Like Harry Potter?"

He scowled.

The Slytherin knew he should have felt like he struck pay-dirt in light of what he had just learned. As it stood, he felt as if somewhere in the three-fold chasm between ecstatic elation, uncharacteristic sympathy, and obtuse disappointment. Sympathy was understandable. He figured the both of them featured equally in the public eye, and he quite agreed with the viewpoint of wanting to keep some things private. As disgusting as the notion was to the Slytherin, sexuality could make or break you - it was always best to at least _appear_ "acceptable".

Who's business was it but his own whom he kept in his bed? He snorted. That didn't mean everyone and their mother wasn't trying to find out whom, if anyone, it was.

The latter was a little different. The disappointment had to spring from envy - but who was it, truthfully, that he envied? Was it Potter, gallivanting about the castle with his sappy, Gryffindor-esque missives of adoration to some boy he obviously cared enough for to want to keep secret?

Or was it this mysterious American boy, himself? Was it the _position_ that he envied? Was he, perhaps, even longing for a few sappy missives of his own?

Draco snorted at the thought of Potter attempting to sweep him off his feet, like those annoying, helpless damsels in children's fairy tales. If he ever ended up in such a position, _he_ would be the one doing the sweeping. Malfoys were not "wooed". Or coddled. They took what they wanted, consequences be damned.

It was as simple as that.

He took his final drag, reclining back in his perch on the window to grind out the dregs of his cigarette against the rough-hewn stone of the wall, leaned his head against the cool surface and closed his eyes. He'd made his decision. What wasn't so simple was how in the _world_ he was going to pull off such a lofty scheme.

Because, honestly? How do you steal The Boy Who Lived?

**xXxXxXxXx**

**Author's Note:** Many apologies - _again_ - because I completely forgot that this was beta'd. --;

That last line owns. How, indeed! That totally ended in a way different than how I planned. Actually, I think this will turn out better in the end. What can I say? Draco isn't as reticent as I was trying to make him, I suppose. :)

And now, for a mini-rant, because I know I'll get questions: Yes, a half-blood in Slytherin. It is statistically impossible for the entire house to be filled with purebloods, and yet people write fics centering around such conceptions. /Pet Peeve A tad too boring for me. I like to shake things up a bit!

Much Love,  
Ashe


	4. Chapter 4

**Title**: Make Me Scene  
**Pairing**: HD, past H/OC, a bit of R/Hr  
**Warnings**: emo!Harry, slash, crackfic-ish, AU sixth year.  
**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and all things such related are copyright J.K. Rowling. I own nothing, am making no profit, and mean no harm by spinning my amusing little tales. I'm but a lowly student low on the pocket change, so please don't feel offended.

**xXxXxXxXx**

**Chapter Four**

"_We are young, and we don't care  
Your dreams and your hopeless hair  
We never wanted it to be this way  
For all our lives ...  
Do you care at all?"_  
- _"_Give 'Em Hell, Kid_"_, My Chemical Romance

**xXxXxXxXx**

Harry rubbed tiredly at his eyes as he made his way down the hall. After hours of restless tossing and turning, he finally admitted defeat and just dragged himself up to get dressed. He had to face the day sooner or later.

He had been plagued all night with fears over what kind of havoc Malfoy would wreak on his already over-complicated life now that he knew. This wasn't just a secret - this was _the_ secret. Not even Ron and Hermione knew. In his own defense, his interest in other men _was_ a recent development ... and it proved kind of hard to bring something like that up in casual conversation. Harry rolled his eyes. It wasn't like he had found much time to do so between the strained dinner and Hermione's shouting last night.

And now this. If Harry hadn't just had a vacation, he would have been praying for one.

Standing just before the open doors, the Gryffindor could hear the voices of his classmates wafting out, both inviting and intimidating. Were they all discussing him, yet again? Just waiting for him to show up to be ridiculed?

With a deep sigh, and his face pointed squarely at the ground, he mustered his courage and forced himself forward. Around the corner. Through the doors. He came to a halt just within the room, eyes shut tight in anticipation, and waited.

And waited.

And _waited_.

Tentatively, he raised his head and cracked open an eye. Other than a few curious stares in his direction at his odd behaviour, most people had taken no notice of his entrance, still engrossed in their numerous conversations. Dumbledore cast him an amused glance from the head table, eyes twinkling as always. Ron was smiling and waving from the Gryffindor table, plate already laden with food. Hermione was next to him, staring moodily into her bowl of porridge and ignoring Harry completely.

_There's no way he wouldn't have used this good of a secret against me,_ Harry thought. _What's going on?_

He looked to the opposite end of the Hall and found Draco's blonde head immediately. None of the Slytherins were snickering or pointing in his direction - in actual fact, they seemed the least interested that he had just arrived. Draco himself was immersed in a leather-bound novel and seemed completely determined to ignore him.

Harry cast him a wary glance as he went to take his place at his house's table. _What is he up to?_

_"_Hey Harry," Ron called brightly as Harry took a seat at the table across from him. "How are you feeling?"

The boy ran a hand through his raven hair. He was sure he probably looked like he'd been to hell and back, but slinked into the routine easily enough. "I'm fine. You?"

"Great," Ron replied, shoving a fork-load of eggs into his mouth with gusto. "Though, I think _someone_" - he glared pointedly at Hermione, who huffed unpleasantly in response - "has something they want to say to you."

"Oh, really?" Harry replied, rolling his eyes as he dished out some eggs for himself. "Do tell."

Hermione rolled her eyes. She folded her arms on the table and looked away, staring fixedly at an invisible spot on the wall above the staff table.

"Hermione ..." Ron began dangerously, narrowing his eyes and prodding her with his fork.

She sighed sharply, turning a narrowed gaze to Harry. "Ronald would like me to apologize for yelling at you."

Harry glared back at her. "So, are you?"

"Am I what?"

"Going to apologize. I'm all ears," he replied sarcastically.

"Not if you're going to be rude." She frowned and looked away again.

"Then we don't have anything to say to each other!"

"I guess not!"

Ron rolled his eyes in exasperation. "You guys-"

Two voices chorused in unison: "Stay OUT of this, Ron!"

He threw up his hands in defeat, and went back to his eggs, muttering under his breath about 'unreasonable friends' and 'stupid fights'. They sat in strained silence for a long while: Ron gazing back and forth a bit worriedly between his friends, Hermione swirling her spoon through her porridge angrily, Harry stabbing at his eggs moodily as he let his head slump against his hand.

Finally, he couldn't take it anymore.

Jumping up, he tossed out, "I'll see you guys later," and stalked back to the tower to get his things, leaving Ron somewhat shocked and Hermione stabbing her porridge into deadly submission and pretending it was Harry's face. He wasn't really that hungry anyway.

Harry didn't notice the pair of silver-gray eyes following him out of the hall.

**xXxXxXxXx**

The day plodded along maddeningly slowly. Every class he had with the rest of the Trio - which was most of them - became unbearably strained and unpleasant. Ron repeatedly tried to bridge the gap between his friends to no avail.

Harry sat moodily by himself during Care of Magical Creatures, half listening to Hagrid as he taught, half lost in his own thoughts. He was watching Draco who, normally, was the centre of attention within the Slytherin crew, but today was sitting under a tree still reading his novel with a posture that clearly stated he _wasn't_ a part of the class.

The whole ordeal was just confusing. He wanted desperately to know what Draco was up to, but he couldn't just walk up to the Slytherin Ice Prince and start a civil conversation. The Gryffindors would flip, not to mention the retaliation-hungry Slytherins. Such things just weren't _normal_.

He looked about the grounds outside of Hagrid's hut at the other students. A select few were seated directly in front of Hagrid and appeared completely enraptured in whatever he was lecturing on - enough, apparently, to satisfy the half-giant. Most were spread out on their backs, looking at the clouds, playing discreet games of Exploding Snap, or in the case of the Slytherins, talking and full-out ignoring the fact that a class was technically in session. His own friends were seated under a tree a ways from him, whispering heatedly to each other. Ron was probably trying to yet again convince Hermione to apologize.

The Boy Who Lived sighed, smiling slightly.

He was just lucky, then, that it wasn't a normal day.

Using as much stealth as he could muster, Harry crept around Hagrid's gaze to where Draco was sitting. Without so much as a word, he plopped down in front of the Slytherin and stared.

After a moment, Draco's amused eyes peeked over the rim of his book. He quirked an eyebrow. "Yes? Can I help you?"

Harry scowled. "Yeah, why the hell didn't you tell anybody?"

Draco smirked, laying the book open in his lap and giving Harry his full attention. "Tell everybody what?" he asked innocently.

"You bloody-" The boy began loudly, but was stopped abruptly by Draco's hand, signaling silence. Both boy's eyes darted around to check if anyone had heard. No one was looking. Harry lowered his voice with the slightest of blushes. "You bloody well know what I'm talking about, Malfoy. Don't play dumb." His eyes twinkled with mirth. "Or is this just your normal level of intelligence? It's the hair, right?"

Draco's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Har har, Potter. Very funny." The Slytherin picked the book back up and began to read again. A few moments of silence passed. "Let's just say that I ... _understand_ your position, and leave it at that."

"What?"

The blonde boy raised his eyes back to Harry's and frowned in disbelief_. There is no way Potter is actually that dense_, he thought.

Harry blushed darkly as the implications of what Draco had actually said hit home.

Draco chuckled, turning back to his book. "But ... honestly, Potter. A Yank?" He shook his head with a smirk. "Have you no national pride?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Har har, yourself." He paused a moment. "Why? Are you offering?"

Draco looked up with a start, surprised. Harry was immediately embarrassed, but held his ground, looking Draco in the eyes and hoping he wasn't blushing too hard. _What in the name of Merlin made me say that?_

The boys looked at each other in stunned silence for a moment. Draco slowly smirked in a unsettling fashion, making Harry fidget nervously. He opened his mouth and was just about to speak -

The magical, twinkling bells signaling the end of class sounded, and all the students breathed a collective sigh of relief, ambling off to their next classes. With a noncommittal shrug, Draco shoved his book into his bag and, heaving it over his shoulder, stood to leave. "See you around, Potter," he called softly over his shoulder as he walked back towards the castle.

Harry sat, stunned, for a few moments. Shaking his head eventually to collect his thoughts, he grabbed his things and dashed off to the castle, not wanting to incur McGonagall's wrath at showing up late to her class.

**xXxXxXxXx**

As Draco entered his favourite class of the day - Potions - and took his normal seat, he smirked to himself. If Potter's reactions were anything to go by, this was going to be way too easy. His loyalties to this American sorely needed to be tested. Shaking the blonde hair out of his eyes, he cast a surreptitious glance at the Potions professor. Snape was perched angrily over his desk, scribbling furiously at what looked like a particularly horrendous stack of fourth-year essays. _So he's in a bad mood?_ Draco mused. _Perfect._

Harry ambled in minutes later, not far behind his friends, and sat down with them, determined not to acknowledge either of them or Draco, who was openly staring at the trio with thinly-veiled interest.

When the bells rang, Snape snapped up from his place and stood at the head of the classroom, fixing them all with a deadly glare. Neville whimpered and slid down in his seat, but Draco just smiled.

"Making a potion," he commanded gruffly. "Ingredients -" a flick of his wrist and the ingredients appeared on the board. "Partners -" another flick, and a paired list of names appeared next to the ingredients. He turned back to the class. No one moved. "NOW!"

The class sprang into frenzied action as Snape slid back into his desk, greasy hair clasped tightly in one hand as he graded angrily with the other.

The children all clambered to the front of the room in order to make out who their partners were. Harry pushed to the front of the sprawling mass as fast as he could, noting with pleasure that Ron and Hermione weren't paired with him. When he found his name, however, he flushed.

"Well, well, Potter," Draco drawled. Harry turned to his right and found that he was mere inches from the other boy. "It seems we've been partnered up ..." With a heady gaze, he sauntered back to the cupboards of ingredients, slowly but surely gathering everything they needed.

Harry felt as if his brain was imploding. "Why?!?" He slumped over to Draco's desk, tossed his things underneath it, and flung himself dramatically into his chair, folding his arms on the table and letting his head fall onto them with a punctuated 'thump'. He felt Draco return a moment later, and heard him chuckle.

"My, Potter. We certainly are emo today, aren't we?"

"Oh, shut -" The words registered. Harry's head snapped up. "W-What did you call me?"

Draco just looked at him and smirked, returning back to preparing his half of the ingredients. He pushed the other half to Harry's side of the table and said, "You'd best get started. I don't want to be on the wrong side of Professor Snape's wrath when we're the only group who hasn't finished. Do you?"

With a groan at the gleeful delight it would surely bring Snape to be given any excuse to thoroughly punish him, Harry begrudgingly set to work, immersing himself in finely chopping the valerian root.

He hoped he could get through this lesson as painlessly as possible.

"So ..." Draco began conversationally, pushing the bottle of Murtlap essence out of his way so he could begin chopping his own ingredients. "Tell me about this American tart of yours."

Apparently he couldn't.

Harry felt like breaking down and throwing a two-year-old tantrum.

Draco's eyes twinkled. "Is he a good shag?"

The raven-haired boy let his head fall into his hands. "I swear to God, I'll fucking _kill_ you, Malfoy." He paused. "Or myself. Whatever will make this end faster."

The Slytherin tutted disapprovingly. "Honestly, Potter. It was just an honest question. No need to be snippy." The boy smirked. "If your love life's _that_ pathetic -"

"My love life is _not _'pathetic', thank you!"

"Of course it isn't," Draco replied condescendingly.

Harry groaned angrily. "What do you want, Malfoy?"

"My face on the one dollar bill."

"I ... What?"

"Never mind," Draco replied, exasperated. "Honestly, Potter, don't you watch movies?"

Harry was confused. "And ... you do?"

Draco ignored him. "I want to know exactly what I asked you. Nothing more, nothing less." He paused, smirking. "Well, maybe a bit _more_, if you take my meaning."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I'm not giving you any sordid details, Draco."

The blonde pouted playfully. Turning back to his ingredients, he slowly began to smile. With a chuckle, he breathed to himself, "Amazing."

Against his better judgement, Harry took the bait. "... What's amazing?"

Draco turned back to him with a soft smile. "You really _do _have a bit of a thing for me, don't you?"

"W-what?" Harry sputtered, flushing.

"Just something Blaise said," He smiled. "You called me Draco."

"Well ... I ... I mean -"

"Are you going to answer my question or not?" Draco asked, cold facade settling back into place as he waved a dismissive hand in Harry's direction.

"Not," Harry replied forcefully, turning away as his thoughts raced. So what if he had called the other boy by his first name? That didn't mean anything! It certainly didn't mean that he fancied the Slytherin. Or that he thought he had lovely hair ... and soft, beautiful skin ... and those eyes ... _Stop! Stop!_ Harry berated himself. _Don't even think those things! You don't believe them. _He bit his bottom lip. _Do you?_

_"_So he's _not_ a good shag," Draco replied, nodding with a sense of finality. "I'll have to remember that for future reference."

"I didn't say _that_, he's _loads_ better than you'll ever -" Harry stopped, mid sentence, realizing that Draco had just cornered him into a trap. Unwillingly, he had just confirmed what the Slytherin had obviously been trying to find out: that he, Harry Potter, not only fancied other men but had been thoroughly debauched by one - and thought quite positively about the whole experience. "Well ... Shit."

Draco laughed. Harry let his head sink onto the desk once more, and Draco patted it reassuringly. "Don't worry, _Harry_," he stressed, making the Boy Who Lived blush to the tips of his ears, as the blonde's laughter faded into a chuckle. "The secrets of your naughty gay trysts are safe with me."

Harry groaned. "Yeah, I'm sure," he muttered.

"POTIONS!" Snape bellowed, and the class immediately hushed, as everyone worked doubly hard to get finished and get out of there.

Especially Harry.

**xXxXxXxXx**

After what seemed like an eternity of mixing ingredients and weathering Draco's almost constant snickering, the class ended. Breathing an immense sigh of relief, Harry spelled everything clean and back to it's place, and dashed out of the room, grabbing his things almost as an afterthought.

Draco watched him rush about, amused. As the Gryffindor dashed away from the desk, something fell out of his bookbag. Confused, Draco bent to pick it up. It was a square package - made of plastic - with some sort of odd, swirling, design in blue, black, and orange. It said, "The Strokes" in the bottom left-hand corner.

Draco raised an eyebrow at it. "Potter ..."

But when he turned, the boy was already gone.

Frowning, the Slytherin studied it. It seemed to have a slit on the right edge. As he walked from the classroom he shimmied one of his nails underneath it, and it popped open with an audible 'click'. He started ... then peered closely. There was a rounded disk, emblazoned rather gaudily with the same text as the front, imbedded in the middle. He pulled it out and turned it around: it was printed on one side, and prismatic on the other. He twisted it in the light, mildly fascinated by the colour display, but ultimately confused as to what he was holding in his hands.

He _loathed_ being confused.

Draco pondered, weighing his options as he walked to his last class, Ancient Runes. Entering the room he looked about, and zeroed in on just the black-haired head he was looking for.

With sweeping gestures befitting his most regal and noble ancestry, he maneuvered himself gracefully into the room and into the seat next to one Dean Thomas. Women sighed appreciatively and men leered.

Life was good for Draco Malfoy.

He looked down at the five-and-a-half by five hunk of plastic in his hands.

Well, _almost_.

Draco turned to his right. Dean had stopped writing mid-sentence and was staring at the Slytherin next to him with unabashed confusion.

Looking about with suspicion, Draco leaned in and whispered to the Gryffindor conspiratorialy, "This goes against all things I hold dear as a Slytherin, and know I would _never _normally do this, but ..." He held up the case and showed it to the amused-looking lion. "Tell me everything there is to know about ... whatever _this_ is."

**xXxXxXxXx**

Enjoying the warmth of both the room and the soothing effect of the red and gold colours, Harry sighed in happiness. Thanking all the deities he had ever heard of that Potions was his last class, he kicked off his shoes and flopped onto his bed, bag and all, eyes closed.

"I need some music," he whispered, pulling his bag atop of him, blindly groping in the side pocket for his CD player. Pulling it out and tossing it next to him, he dove back in for the CD he knew he had with him.

It wasn't there.

He opened his eyes in confusion and looked in the pocket. It was empty.

Sitting up, he tore through his bookbag, pulling out sheets of parchment, random notes, an ink well and quills, books and all manner of rubbish stuck in the nooks and crannies.

_It wasn't there._

Disbelief turning to anguish, he flung himself back on the bed with an angry sob. "Brilliant. First, Hermione yells at me and won't talk to me. Then, Draco finds out I'm gay. Then, he teases me relentlessly and gets me to think he's kind of amazingly sexy, the _fucking_ prat. THEN, I lose my Strokes CD." With a very impressive emo-pout he moaned, "Why does the world hate me so damn much?!?"

Flipping over lethargically, Harry buried his face in his pillow.

After a few minutes of anguished breathing, he raised his head from the pillow slowly with a look of absolute confusion.

"Did I ... just say that ... I think Draco Malfoy is amazingly sexy?" He blinked several times. "God damn it, I am so _fucked up_."

**xXxXxXxXx**

**The Previous Summer, August 5th.**

"Dawn patrol!"

"You've _got_ to be kidding me."

As a general rule, Harry wasn't normally privy to being woken before the crack of dawn. Being woken at such a time by several over-excited Americans in surf gear was beyond Harry's comprehension so early in the morning.

"You wanna have fun with us this summer," Marlene called over her back as she searched high and low for her shortboard, "you've gotta learn to run with the big boys. Best time for that is right now!" She shook his mattress. "Outta bed, lazy-bones! There's a wave out there with your name on it!"

Somehow, Harry seriously doubted that. He flopped over and laid his head back on the pillow.

That only bought him a few more seconds of rest until he was covered with a surging mass of flailing limbs.

"Gaaaaah," Harry cried, tossing his arms over his head and attempting to curl into a fetal position, "What the hell are you _doing_?"

"Rolling on you!" Chance replied, grabbing one of Harry's arms from his face and pinning it behind his back.

"You're coming if we have to drag you out of this bed in your skivvies," Marlene called, rolling over Harry to the space between him and the wall, and pushing against him with all her might.

Harry attempted to push back. "Gods, can't you just let me sleep?"

"Nope!" They both chorused back, pushing and pulling and rolling about over him, poking him and asking him annoying questions like, "How 'bout now?" and "Don't you want to be our friend anymore?" and "Does my hair look alright like this?"

"FINE!" Harry yelled, allowing himself to be pulled from the bed. "If I say I'll go will you stop badgering me?"

"Yes," Marlene answered with a nod, looking down at Harry's face, scowling at them from the floor. Chance didn't look so sure, but nodded anyways.

Half asleep, he somehow managed to find his glasses and get dressed. When he made it back out to the living room where everyone was waiting, Marlene gave him a once-over with a pained look on her face.

"We really need to get you some new clothes," She shook her head sadly. "But not now! Now: we're off!"

It took several minutes just to get everyone's limbs situated safely within Marlene's Cadillac, and several more to actually get the old thing moving. The roads were almost completely empty: looking around the city as they drove, Harry thought it looked more like a ghost town than the bustling city he had been introduced to only the morning before. They made excellent time on the near-deserted highway, and swung around Clarita's Pass on a straight shot to the beach before the first tinges of colour even hit the sky.

Before Marlene had even parked people were jumping out of the vehicle, giving Harry a bit more breathing room, but frightening him all the same - were they honestly expecting him to jump into the ocean and go surfing right off the bat? What if he messed up? What if he made a fool of himself? Hadn't people _died_ while surfing?

Without giving him time to voice his concerns, Marlene and Chance pulled Harry bodily from the car. Guiding him slowly but forcefully to where the others were already shedding their clothes, they pushed him down to a sitting position. "Danni here's gonna sit with you so you can watch us first," Marlene said, motioning to a blonde-haired girl with cat-eye glasses, holding a book, that had just sat down next to him.

"Hi," Danni waved pleasantly to him as the others ran off in a mad dash to hit the waves. Far from looking like the rest of the surfers, Danni had a bookish look about her - a paler skin tone that spoke of someone who tended to spend a lot of time indoors reading. She was dressed in a simple black tank top and matching black skirt, with those ever-present black Chucks that everyone seemed to be wearing.

Harry pondered her for awhile. "Danni?"

"Danielle," She replied, scrunching up her nose in displeasure. "But I'd rather not, if it's all the same to you." Harry laughed and she smiled at him.

She raised her book and Harry was able to read the title: 'A Brief History of Psychological Analysis: What You Should Know, What You Shouldn't Know, and What We'll Tell You Anyway'.

"You're interested in Psychology?" Harry asked, indicating the book with his right hand.

"Oh, of course!" She gushed happily. Apparently, Harry had hit on the right subject. Danni leaned forward in anticipation. "Once I graduate from school, I'm planning to go to muggle university and get certified as a real Psychologist." She sighed happily. "Isn't the human brain just the most fascinating thing?"

Harry smiled at her enthusiasm. "I suppose so."

They sat in companionable silence a while as Harry watched the others surf. It all seemed to be moving too fast for his brain to catch up, and he didn't feel like he was learning anything. He turned back to Danni.

"So, why aren't you surfing?"

"Oh, well," She replied, shifting a bit as if she were embarrassed. "We have to take it in turns. Eventually, someone will come ashore and let me have a few rides. I ... I don't have a board of my own." She ducked her head. "They're way too expensive, and I've got to save my money for college."

Harry made a mental note to buy her a board as soon as possible.

Chance flopped down into an ungainly heap between the two, soaked and flushed, but happy looking, and extended his board out to Danni. Harry watched, amused, as her eyes lit up. _Well, that's two things she really loves, _he thought.

They both watched as she raced off to the surf, shedding her clothes as she went. Chance chuckled. "That girl," he said, "I swear she must have been born in the surf."

Harry smiled. "She certainly seems at home."

"That's why I came in so early," Chance whispered, with a sly grin. "Everyone's pretty selfish about their boards, they like to stay in until they're completely tired out; then she wouldn't have anyone to surf with! She's a sweet kid, she deserves a nice big chunk of fun in the sun."

They sat together for a moment, watching their friends surf.

Chance pointed at Danni's book. "Did she tell you about her 'dream for the future' yet?" Harry nodded. Chance shook his head sadly. "That's just something I don't understand. I don't know about you, but I'm a muggle-born. When I found out I was a wizard, you couldn't have torn me back to the muggle world with wild horses."

Harry wasn't quite sure what to say to that. He couldn't lie and say the idea hadn't appealed to him, but at the same time he understood the pull. In that regard, Chance reminded him of Hermione. He wondered idly: would they get along if they ever met?

The sun-kissed boy chuckled, looking back out at the sea. He gestured to his friends. "All except for this." He looked thoughtful. "And music; though I never thought of music as either a muggle or a wizarding thing, eh?" He looked at Harry curiously. "I always figured music was something that belonged to everybody. Don't you?"

Harry frowned slightly. "I ... don't know. I never really thought about it. I've never really gotten the chance to listen to music."

Chance balked. "You mean, you're sixteen and you don't have a favourite song? Or a favourite band?"

Harry blushed slightly and shook his head, 'no'.

"Well, that's definitely something we need to fix first. Music is _way_ more important than surfing!"

Chance grabbed Harry by the hand and whisked him off down the boardwalk, with Marlene screaming after him, "If you ever say that about surfing again, I'll make you eat your swim trunks, you freeking Stu!"

Harry was confused. "What?"

Chance laughed as they ran. "A Stu. That's slang for a failure or jerk surfer. She calls me that whenever I make her mad." He paused. "So ... a lot."

Harry laughed in return, just barely keeping up with the other boy as they hurtled around corners, running so fast they were making the plank-boards shake underneath them. They stopped in front of the only store that had it's lights on at such an ungodly hour. It was too dim for Harry to see the name before Chance pushed him in the door.

"I used to work here," Chance explained, waving to the store owner as he ushered Harry further in. The man waved in return.

They were surrounded by rows and rows of CDs and vintage LPs, organized into every sort of musical genre imaginable: rock, classical, techno, pop, world, new age ...

Chance took off down one of the rows marked 'rock'. "I can't tell you much about other music genres," he said, glancing left and right at the CD racks, attempting to orient himself as Harry followed him dutifully, "but I can tell you a whole _hell_ of a lot about emo."

"Emo?"

Chance spun around and smiled. "We'll start with the basics, then." He looked intently and grabbed a CD from the rack to his left. "This," he held it up, "is Rights of Spring - veritable godfathers of the modern emo rock scene."

Taking off his glasses and wiping them, Harry prepared to immerse himself in the flood of emo lore that was forthcoming.

**xXxXxXxXx**

Blinking at the strong light filtering in through the windows, Harry felt disoriented. His thoughts had been so tumultuous he didn't think he would ever be able to fall asleep, but his body had won out eventually - he simply could not stay up longer than 24 hours.

Though, dreaming about California wasn't the most comfortable thing, either. In retrospect, he couldn't remember how long they had stayed in that record store, just talking about music and life in general. It was relaxing to just _talk_ with someone. If he missed anything, it was that feeling. And not ... well ...

Eventually, though he felt completely lethargic and still quite a bit anguished from the night before, he made his way to breakfast, and then on to his morning classes. Treasuring the lunch hour when it finally arrived, he sped into the hall to grab some food and sped back out into the sunshine. Walking around the lake, he found the perfect spot - his favourite spot: a lovely, tall willow tree on the right shore of the lake. It was secluded enough that he felt like he could be alone with his thoughts, but was open enough that he could still see all his classmates lounging across the grounds.

He settled against the trunk of the tree, and was just about to take a bite out of his sandwich when he heard a voice ring loud and clear from behind him.

"Hello, Potter." That familiar drawl. "You know," An amused tone. "I haven't seen you all day."

_Draco._ Harry thought bitterly, though blushing ever so slightly. _Of course you didn't, because I've been AVOIDING you. Prat._

_"_Please, just go away. I'm eating my lunch."

Ignoring the Boy Who Lived's feeble protest, Draco plopped down next to him and looked about appreciatively, nodding his head at the surroundings.

Harry just stared at him. Wearily, he asked, "What do you want _now_, Dr- ... Malfoy?"

If Draco had heard the slip, he chose to ignore it. "Oh, not much," He waved a hand in a dismissive gesture, reaching the other into his bag. "You just ... lost something."

Smirking softly, Draco held up Harry's missing CD.

Forgetting who he was talking to, or what had happened between them the past few days, Harry broke into a wide smile. Snatching the CD back and holding it reverently, he gushed, "Wow, thanks, Draco! I've been looking _everywhere_ for this. Where did you find it?"

"It fell out of your bag during Potions yesterday. You were rather in a hurry to get away from me."

Put that way, it made Harry kind of feel bad. He ducked his head in apology.

Draco sniffed haughtily. "Were you really that worked up about it? It's not _that_ good of music, you know."

"I don't know," Harry replied, "It's not Radiohead or The Smashing Pumpkins or anything, but it's nice when you want to relax or -" He stopped abruptly. "Wait ... What did you just say?"

Draco didn't reply.

"Did you ... listen to this?" He asked, waving the CD in the air.

"Here," The blonde replied, turning to dig in his bag and ignoring Harry's question. "This is much better." He held out a different CD to Harry.

Reaching forward tentatively, the boy took it. He gazed confusedly at the front of the case. "... Placebo?"

Draco nodded with finality. "Much better." He smirked. "They're British. Didn't I lecture you already on the importance of national pride?"

Harry had to laugh at that. "Yeah, I think I remember something like that." He smiled. "If you're going to base your musical preferences off face value, you should try Depeche Mode. You share the same initials."

The Slytherin paused for a moment, in mock thought. "Well, in that case they must be absolutely brilliant."

"You narcissistic prat," Harry replied, without a trace of malice in his voice.

"Well. Take that and let me know what you think." Draco stood and shouldered his things. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I believe some first-year Hufflepuffs are in dire need of hazing." With a nod, he turned and strolled back in the direction of the castle, taking care to stick his foot out and trip a few young Ravenclaw muggle-borns playing Ultimate Frisbee.

Harry looked out over the lake and shook his head. His days were becoming weirder and weirder. Not a week ago, if someone had told him he would be sitting by the lake discussing music with Draco Malfoy - no matter how short lived the conversation was - he would have had them shipped off to St. Mungo's. So what was this going on between them now? He had to admit, if they were discussing something they both seemed interested in, talking to the Slytherin wasn't all that bad.

Still, he wasn't sure how he felt about all these. He was taking it with what he most assuredly felt was good grace, despite how tumultuous and queasy it was making him feel. What was he really _doing_, anyhow?

He looked back down at the CD in his hand. _Placebo, huh_? He thought to himself.

_I guess we'll see, Draco Malfoy. I guess we'll see. _

**xXxXxXxXx**

**Author's Note:** There's an allusion via Harry to a Dane Cook joke. And, if you can name the movie Draco quoted, you get tons of e-brownies. WOO, YOU'D BE SO SPECIAL! You want to be special, don't you? Of course you do!

Placebo was mentioned because I got the "Meds - Special Edition" for my birthday. OMG I LOVE THEM. I'm a total fangirl - have been forever. I also hate to mention "Rights of Spring," because it's near impossible to find one of their albums in a normal store. If anyone wants an mp3, I can direct you to one.

I just realized that you can reply to reviews via the website. :dies: I'm so lame. Honestly. I'll start doing that right away:bows for forgiveness:

I've been in University for the past ... many months, but I'm attempting to get a few things out and around before I go back on the 10th of January. We'll see, we'll see!

Much love,  
Ashe


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